


the gift

by oodal (softkyun)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smoking, self-indulgent bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softkyun/pseuds/oodal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>damen and laurent have been given a gift, and subsequently get really high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the gift

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first captive prince fic, and of course it's some self-indulgent madness. this is nothing but me just wanting to write out damen and laurent getting high together OTL

“It’s a gift, Damen.” 

Damen eyes the wrapped package with apprehension, the pale velvet of the ribbon and the silk of the wrapping sent askew to reveal the contents. It looks like dried leaves - it is dried leaves, actually - but the difference is that it isn’t what Damen originally thought it would be. Rather than being some sort of fancy floral concoction, Laurent has revealed that it’s a type of grass, a drug.

“We don’t really have a good track record with drugs,” Damen huffs, leaning forward to pick up the herb between his thumb and forefinger. He recalls with vague discomfort the feeling of the drug that first time in the fighting ring, and sees similar feelings flicker across Laurent’s features. The slope of his cheekbones is more prominent than usual, highlighted by the candles on the table. They can barely disguise the earthy scent of the gift. However, the distaste on the blonde's face doesn’t stick around for long, and Damen realizes with a faint sink of dread that Laurent’s curiosity is winning over. His husband is all about the game, and Damen can see the intrigued squint of his eyes as he weighs his options. 

“You don’t want to try it? You aren’t wrong about the previous experience, but our circumstances are much different, now,” Laurent murmurs, and from the soft way that he speaks, Damen knows that the deal is sealed. What’s life without a little adventure, right?

“Fine, fine,” Damen waves his hand, reaching out to pull Laurent in a little closer to him. The ability to be like this - to sit like this, his arm around Laurent, thumb toying with the side laces of his shirt where they rest above his hip bones - is something that will never grow old, not if Damen is the one calling the shots.

“How do we do it?” He asks, his knowledge of drugs far less than Laurent’s. Despite the meshing of Vere and Akielos, there are some things that he might never understand, and the use of pleasure drugs is one of them. He would much prefer a beverage than something like this, but… if he feels as good as he did the last time he and Laurent drank together, and if it results in anything even close to the night they’d shared together, he’ll be alright with it.

“You grind it, and you smoke it,” Laurent informs him, smiling slyly as he nudges Damen’s arm from his torso. With all of the elegant grace that makes up the stuff of Damen’s dreams, he stands and moves towards one of the various chests in their room. The decision to share a bedroom had been an instantaneous one, but the sheer quantity of things in Laurent’s possession was… well, shocking. Although Damen couldn’t fairly compare his own considering that his brother had burned and trashed a majority of his things, he refused to believe that he had ever owned so many things. The chests in their room weren’t even the bulk of it; they’d converted another room into a space where Laurent’s other things went. Convincing him to weed through it was a lost cause; he’d said something along the lines of, ‘you never know what you’re going to need later down the road’ and that had been the end of it. 

Damen shifts as he mulls over it, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches Laurent kneel beneath the heavy wooden chest. Laurent snaps open the two golden latches to reveal layers on layers of possessions, wrapped in cloths and sorted into multiple boxes. With a noise of approval and discovery, Laurent lifts an embossed white box before gliding back over the couch. 

“See?” Laurent glances to Damen’s bemused expression as he removes a metal canister. He opens it to show the spikes on the inside before reaching out for the chunked leaves on the table, feeling Damen’s gaze on him with every movement.

“You place it in the grinder like so, cap it, and then twist it. The blades on the inside crush it up so that you can place it into the groove of the pipe,” Laurent’s voice has taken on the quality of a teacher, and Damen feels his chest warm at the sound. This is Laurent in his element, sharing what he knows - which seems to be everything - and taking his calculated risks for calculated benefits. This is the Laurent who lives to play strategy games, the Laurent who spends one of their few evenings off probably thinking about what his lover will look like high and deciding that it’s worth it to find out.

Laurent pops open the canister to reveal the finer-looking leaves, and then sets it down on the table besides the candle flame. He returns to the chest and comes back to the couch with a longer box this time, elegant and soft blue beneath Laurent’s fingertips. Damen suppresses the urge to kiss them, knowing better than to stop Laurent mid-mission. 

“Go fetch a few of the fire sticks, would you?” Laurent requests as he begins to pinch the drug into the indentation of the pipe. Damen supposes this must be like smoking tobacco as he watches, and feels vaguely embarrassed as he realizes that he’s only just now come to that conclusion. That must explain the mirthful glimmer in Laurent’s eyes as he explained the process.

When Damen stands, his hip pops, and fall of his steps isn’t enough to disguise Laurent’s short puff of laughter. He steps out of the room to go to the candle closet, grateful for the lamps that cast light across the halls. It’s a quick trip and he’s back in the room almost as soon as he’s left, holding a handful of the wooden sticks they use to transfer flames. 

“I said a few,” Laurent says with a raised brow, and Damen shrugs in response, shoulders heaving with the motion.

“I figured better safe than sorry,” Damen responds, setting them on the table and sitting back down on the sprawling couch besides Laurent. Laurent reaches for one of the sticks immediately, hovering the end over the flame of the candle. It catches with a crackle, and the smell of it intensifies. Damen sneezes, and Laurent laughs in response, pulling the pipe away as smoke flows from his mouth. 

“You made me laugh, you --” He stops mid-insult (perhaps, Damen thinks, he might have chosen meathead, idiot, or another variation of the same idea) and coughs, eyes watering even as mischief sparkles in them. Not to be shown up, Damen reaches and takes the pipe from his hands, brushing Laurent’s fingers with his own and smiling at him as he does. Despite his dislike of blushing, Laurent’s skin betrays him, and those same pale cheeks go flushed with pink. 

Damen grins a little wider as he takes the pipe to his mouth, the embers still burning in the divot. He inhales as best as he can, and sputters, taking in too much to hold. He coughs it out and Laurent chuckles again, and Damen laughs too, although it really doesn’t help his case. The smoke burns and tingles against his throat, down into his chest, and the taste lingers.

“It tastes as strong as it smells,” He comments weakly, licking his lips as his mouth seems to dry out. 

They fall into silence for the next couple passes of the pipe, the two of them side-eyeing each other as if they’re waiting to see who gives it up first. It feels rather like a metaphor for their entire relationship, gauging where one another is at, waiting to see who the first one to go is. 

It’s Damen who cracks first, realizing with a start that there’s a haze settling in over his chest, a heaviness to his eyelids that he can’t attribute to sleepiness.

“The candlelight just looks so good on your skin,” Damen says out of nowhere, breaking the quiet cloud of their bedroom. The smoke lingers above them in wisps, and the pipe dangles in Damen’s hands at this point. Nearly half of the drug is still green, and he knows that Laurent will want to return to it later, but for now, he wants to appreciate the other.

“What?” is Laurent’s eloquent response, the kind of response that makes the burning behind his heart increase. There’s a speediness to his chest, yet a slowness to the passage of time around them, and it feels like ages before his knuckles brush against Laurent’s sharp jawline. 

“You look good in this light. In every light, but this light especially, because I get to see you like this,” His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth a little bit, but his cheeks are aching because he’s been smiling for who knows how long. 

“You’re embarrassing,” Laurent deadpans at him, but Damen keeps going.

“I like the way your eyelids are lowered like this. The red brings out your eyes,” Damen adds on, and Laurent’s lips twitch in slow motion. He moves his fingertips to Laurent’s eyelids, marveling at how soft the other’s skin is beneath the beneath his calloused prints, marveling at the way the pronounced veins really make the blue of his irises stand out. He leans in to kiss Laurent and their lips meet before he realizes that it’s happened. Laurent gasps in a surprised way into the kiss, but leans into it, and Damen’s blurry thoughts smash even closer into one another. It feels like an eternity and a second, all at once, when Laurent pulls away. 

“Focus,” He says without any context, and Damen blinks, brows furrowing.

“I’m focused on you,” He responds, and Laurent bursts into laughter with a suddenness that catches Damen off guard. Laurent shakes his head and then he’s giggling again, and the openness of the expression makes Damen want to melt into him, to sink into him in more ways in one underneath that warmth.

“Let’s finish the pipe, focus-boy,” Laurent’s breathless with the remnants of his laughter as he reaches for the pipe, relighting it. He takes a bigger breath than before, Damen thinks, or maybe his chest is just rising slower than before; when he finishes, instead of passing the pipe back, he sets it down and beckons Damen with a curl of his long fingers. Damen leans in eagerly for a kiss, and Laurent runs his thumb over Damen’s lower lip, tugging at it. Damen’s mouth falls open, pliant and expectant, but rather than the kiss he expects, he feels the smoke from Laurent’s mouth in his. It seeps out from where their lips don’t fit quite perfectly together, but Damen inhales it, his head buzzing with the fact that it’s more smoke than he’s ever inhaled through the pipe. 

He coughs into the kiss, and Laurent pulls back, nose wrinkled. 

“That was supposed to be sensual,” He states blatantly. Damen’s more caught up in the rich tone of his voice, the way his tongue flicks behind his teeth, the way he’s pretty sure that Laurent is pouting. Pouting, over him. Damen realizes he hasn’t said anything back, but as he gets ready to respond, there’s a burst of sensation in his chest. The fuzzy feeling is like someone’s running feathers behind his heart, and once it has spread through his arms, his fingertips tingle with it. 

“Oh,” Damen breathes, biceps twitching. Laurent’s grinning in an uncharacteristically messy way, lopsided and impish, and Damen wobbles a little bit on the couch. The pins-and-needles feeling moves through his stomach, making him realize with a start that he’s somewhat hungry, and then lingers between his legs until he notices that he’s… somewhat aroused. 

“Let me undo your shirt,” He begs with a distinct suddenness, fingers moving to the ties at Laurent’s neck. Laurent flushes, and sinks back into the couch with little resistance.

“Can you get your fingers to work like that?” He asks, the teasing just as light as his tone, which drifts like the smoky haze in the room. Damen doesn’t answer, instead focusing all of his attention in on undoing the lace of his neckline. His hands are heavy and he fumbles with the delicate material, resisting the urge to just yank them out. It seems so hilarious to him - out of nowhere - that he laughs, so much so that he has to rest his head in the crook of Laurent’s neck. His shoulders shake with amusement, hyper-aware of the way his body moves when he laughs, but he stops abruptly when Laurent’s hands sneak to Damen’s bare sides, resting underneath his ribs. It’s like he can feel Laurent’s pulse against him, like Laurent’s hands were made to rest at his waist.

“My hands are cold,” Laurent says, and Damen pauses.

“They don’t feel cold,” He tells him, leaning in to kiss the tip of Laurent’s nose before returning to the ties of his shirt.

“Well, they are,” Laurent’s tone is petulant, and Damen kisses the stubbornness from his lips while his lead fingers still struggle with the laces. Finally - finally, they’re undone, but Damen thinks that it might be smarter to hold Laurent rather than keep undressing him if he’s actually cold. 

He tugs on Laurent’s relaxed arms, pulling the blonde’s lighter frame with ease. Laurent raises an eyebrow as he’s situated into Damen’s lap, but the normally tense slope of his back starts to lessen, and he leans into Damen. 

“Can we kiss?” Damen asks after a few moments of cuddling, looking to where Laurent’s head rests against his chest.

“Your chest is so muscular,” Laurent sighs.

“That’s…. Thank you, can we kiss?” Damen asks again, and Laurent looks up at him this time, eyes so hooded that they’re barely even open. 

“Your eyes are barely open,” Laurent tells Damen, and Damen snorts, the air sending Laurent’s hair awry.

“Yours too,” He thought it might be funny to make a joke here, but it’s a lot of work to make it, and it took him too long to answer as it is. He’s distinctly aware that everything is going very slowly, or maybe just so fast his mind isn’t keeping up in real time.

“Can we kiss?” Damen repeats himself, and Laurent blinks owlishly before nodding.

They’re kissing again now, and Laurent’s mouth - for all his chill - is warm against his. Damen feels like there’s more saliva in his mouth than before, and when he pulls away to breathe again there’s a thin line of spit connecting their lower lips. He’s still aroused, but the kiss is paused so that he can look at Laurent’s eyes again, and Laurent into his. The eye contact lasts forever before they kiss again, Damen angling his head even if his neck is at a strange angle so that their mouths fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. It’s Laurent who stops this kiss.

“Bed,” He mumbles, and Damen looks across the room to their sprawling, poorly made bed.

“Bed?” 

“I’m sleepy,” Laurent adds, and untangles his hands from where they’d been stuck into the waistband of Damen’s pants. When he turns, he nearly topples backwards, which sends him into small, uncontrolled huffs of laughter. This is the most laughing that Damen has seen Laurent do in a long time - the stress of a single kingdom is something that weighs on his lover often, and he’s never been inclined to massive amounts of laughter, anyways. He likes the sound, the way the action opens up Laurent’s face and eases the lines of worry between his eyebrows. 

“I…” Damen starts, thinking about the way that he’s still quite ready to keep kissing, the way that he wouldn’t mind doing a little more.

“Blankets. I’m cold,” Laurent insists, with little force behind it. Damen is enchanted by the way his lower lip slips out, the way the candlelight makes his pale eyelashes cast long shadows. He dips his head to kiss Laurent’s forehead, the humming in his chest and stomach fading out to be replaced by a descending veil of sleepiness. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do that,” Damen concedes, and stands with Laurent somehow in his arms. He doesn’t really know how he manages to keep Laurent held up with the way that his arms feel a little numb, but he does, and Laurent isn’t exactly protesting.

He nearly collapses into the bed, and Laurent half-heartedly pulls the covers up over them. Damen kicks his pants off, and reaches to loosen the ties on Laurent’s wrists so that they won’t dig into him during sleep. They should really be in sleep clothes, but…

Laurent swats his hand away, shaking his head. He cuddles down into the pillows and presses himself against damen’s front, nose to Damen’s bare chest. 

“So muscular,” Laurent has some sort of happiness in his voice that makes Damen smile again. His face muscles seem tired of smiling, but he does it even more so, broadly grinning down at Laurent. Laurent is nearly asleep already, soft breath steady as it tickles Damen. Damen feels that warmth spread through him again, but this time it’s no drug; rather, it’s fondness, strong and unwavering for his husband, that he can’t tamp down.

“I love you,” Damen mumbles, even though he knows it’ll go unheard. The real gift, he thinks as he drifts to sleep, it’s what’s lying beside him - although he finds himself less opposed than he was before to the gift that lies on the table across the room.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed that!! pls feel free to get in touch with me on twitter @nlcaise :-)


End file.
